


Floriography

by Seiberwing



Series: Wild Oats [2]
Category: Batman (1966), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, All characters are of legal age, Drag Queens, Gay Bar, Language of Flowers, M/M, Poor Life Choices, Queer Culture, Riddles, Secret Identity, Supervillain Culture, Supervillains, That's What Floriography Means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiberwing/pseuds/Seiberwing
Summary: Continuing fromLes Fleurs du Mal, a further exploration of the Gotham City queer scene, featuring the Prince of Puzzlers and his colleague the Bird of Bad Decisions. Riddler takes Dick out on the town for a continued education in things that upstanding millionaire wards don't get taught at prep school.





	Floriography

Dick sat at his desk trying to focus. It had been nearly a week since Riddler dropped him off, following their little escapade in the car, and after that there’d been radio silence. Whatever his crime scheme had been, it had evaporated and so had he. Dick reminded himself that promises from a criminal meant little, and making amends, had been the important thing, but...getting dumped was bad enough without all the extenuating circumstances.

“Dick? Dick, dear, there’s a phone call from you.”

Dick’s head jerked up as his Aunt Harriet stuck her head in the door, beaming in that motherly way she did. “One of your school friends wants to talk. If you want I can tell them you’re busy.”

“No, that’s fine. I was just finishing up.” He pushed away from the desk and stood, and grabbed the phone in the hall. He must have been really gone, he hadn’t even heard it ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Ricky-baby!” said a giddy voice that Dick didn’t recognize.

“Um…hi?”

“It’s Violet! Remember me, Violet? Of course you do.”

“Um, yeah, definitely.” Not in the slightest.

“I wanted to pass on a message from Alan. You know Alan? Of course you do. You were studying Biology together?”

“Al—oh. Oh.”

Oh.

Behind him, Aunt Harriet tittered at the way her nephew’s back went ramrod straight. She gave Dick a light pat on the shoulder and left the room, beaming at thoughts of awkward young sweethearts saying tender words over the phone to each other. Dick squinted at her departing back until the door closed again.

“You know Alan?” he whispered, sinking down to hide under the desk just in case and dragging the base of the telephone with him. “The touring one?”

“Of course, Dick-dearest,” tittered Violet, which almost certainly wasn’t her real name. Archcriminals had a habit of renaming their employees between capers, which always made police reports frustrating. “He’s going to this lovely party this evening and he wanted me to pass along an invitation to you.”

“Why’s he going through you?”

“Because he’s _busy_ , Richie Rich. You know how Alan is with that part-time job of his,” said Violet with a soft pout. “And that dreamy daddy of yours wouldn’t quite approve of it.”

“Please don’t call Bruce that.”

“It’s not my fault your pops is a real catch.” Violet giggled. “But speaking of catch, Alan’s invite has a catch. It’s a masquerade. Costumes only. Bring that lovely leather jacket you had on last week, and he’ll handle the rest.”

Dick peeked out around the desk, confirming that the door was firmly shut. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to stop grinning. A masked party, the only kind an archcriminal could get into. “And where is it?”

“Oh, I have it here. It’s 1566—oh, by the way, can you help me with this quiz?” There was the sound of shuffled paper. “What goddess has sequels?”

“Seq—mmm.” Robin frowned for a moment. Come on, Riddler, really? “Oh! Ceres. Like series.”

“That’s it, Comrade Brainski!”

“1566 Ceres Street. Got it.”

“Then it’s a date, D-bird! 7pm, try not to be a wallflower!”

 

~?????????~

On the other end of the line, Violet let off a final giggle and hung up.

“…D-bird?” Riddler looked up from his workbench, where he was bent over a deconstructed radio transmitter.

“I was running out of cutesyisms.” ‘Violet’ rolled her eyes as she let her voice drop down from giggly schoolgirl to annoyed truck stop waitress. “You really think he won’t flake out?”

Riddler spun a screwdriver over his index finger. “The little sprout’s tasted sunlight. I can’t imagine he’ll back out now.”

“Okay, Riddles McGee. But if he stands you up, you can find some other accomplice to cry to.”

 

~?????????~

“I think if you’re in the suit people are gonna know who you are,” said Dick as he pulled his car into the parking lot of a crumbling apartment building. The windows were boarded up and covered in newspaper. “Though that mask isn’t one I’ve seen in before.” Riddler was standing there in his flashy greens, a wide grin on the bottom half of his face and the top covered in what looked like plaster leaves.

" Well, you’ve never accompanied me to a party before.” The archcriminal held up a second mask, this one with crossword puzzle pages decoupaged over the left half. “Yours is more for you and your lily-white reputation, but I wear my identity on my sleeve. Ah, and you did bring that lovely jacket. It suits you so much better than a blazer.” He extended the mask to Dick, who put it on with some trepidation.

“And name, hmm. You’ll need a name. Oscar, maybe? Since you’re such a wild thing.”

“Okay, that reference I got. Oscar Wilde, right? The writer?”

Riddler clapped his hands. “So nice to find a cultured man, and aesthetic as well! One more thing to complete your ensemble.” From seemingly nowhere Riddler produced a sprig of flowers held together by wire--a daisy, some hyssop, and a large white flower Dick tentatively identified as something in the Clematis genus. Virgin’s bower, maybe. He took it delicately and tried to find a place to attach it to his leather jacket.

“What’s that for?”

“Some clubs prefer you wear a suit with tails. This one has a different dress code.” Riddler indicated the yellow-blossomed sprig of rue flowers pinned to his own suit lapels. He offered his arm, which Dick took, and led him in a strut towards the door of the apartment building.

Three knocks and it cracked open, showing eyes in a rough face that was a full foot and a half above Dick’s head. “Password?” he grunted.

“Syringa vulgaris!” announced Riddler, rising up giddily on the balls of his feet. He pressed his fingers to the door, only to find that it remained firmly in place.

“Not sure you’re supposed to be in here,” said the face. Dick could hear faint jazz music filtering out from behind him. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I’m a paying customer!” Riddler insisted.

“You ain’t paid anything yet.”

Riddler waved his hand and a bouquet of flowers appeared in his hand like a stage magician. Dick had no idea where he’d been keeping it. “But I bring a gift for our host!”

The bulging eyes scanned them up and down. Dick offered a bright, innocent smile as encouragement, which only served to make the man grumpier. Eventually, the door clanked and popped open. “Get in here before anyone sees you,” mumbled a massive man barely contained within a tuxedo. “And don’t move. I’m getting the boss.”

“Oh, I await him eagerly!”

The bar resembled some of the speakeasies Dick had seen in old-timey movies. It was cleaner than the dive bar Riddler had first seduced him in, with a besuited saxophonist and trumpeter playing on the stage at the back. Dick tried to stare without seeming like he was staring, hanging on to Riddler’s arm for dear life.

Most of the clientele were wearing masks, primarily the mass-produced domino ones you could buy for cheap at the store. A few went the extra mile and had ones with rhinestones or sweeping feathers that bobbed as they moved around the room.

Meanwhile, the waitresses wore slinky dresses, bright wigs, and thicker makeup than Aunt Harriet’s gossipy friends. They were notably on the tall side, many of them towered over the heads of the seated guests they brought drinks to, between a combination of abnormally large height and tall heels.

“Welcome to Snapdragon,” said Riddler, patting Dick’s hand. “I promise, most of them don’t bite.”

The door guard waved at one with a flowing wig of flaming red hair, then gestured in annoyance to the Riddler, and the woman shot the both of them a glare before heading for the back. Dick followed her path through the crowd with his eyes, until she came to a man in a pale purple suit and hat who had a cigar clenched tight in his fingers. She whispered in his ear, and the man pierced the crowd with a scowl directed entirely at Riddler.

 _Syringa vulgaris._ The scientific name for ‘lilac’. Hooo boy. That at least explained the flowers theme.

“Don’t be so tense, boy,” Riddler whispered as Louis the Lilac, famed floral archcriminal, stalked towards them. “He’s easy to ire, but doesn’t carry long grudges. Usually. I haven’t done anything that bad, anyway.”

“I thought I threw you out into the parking lot last time you got drunk in here,” said Louis, getting right up in Riddler’s face. Anger made Louis’s east-coast mobster drawl even more pronounced, but Riddler kept on beaming like a sun lamp.

“You did. I bounced. But here, I bring an offer of parley without parsley.” With a bow and flourish Riddler offered the bouquet to Louis, then found himself having to hold the pose for several seconds while Louis refused to take them from his hand. Robin stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as Riddler stared at the floor.

Riddler coughed. “It’s mugwort, woodruff, sweet basil, cassia, Star of Bethlehem and—”

“Virginia stock, I know what the hell I’m looking at.” Louis snatched and inspected the bouquet, peeling the stems apart to search for hidden threats. “What is this, you’re trying to butter me up?”

“Merely delivering an apology in a fashion befitting my host, my dear comrade in crime,” said Riddler as he stood back up again, letting out a mild huff of relief.

Louis shook the flowers to see if anything nefarious fell out. “See, this isn’t the arrangement I’d pick out for you,” he said, passing them off to the woman with the flaming hair. Dick eyed her legs to avoid looking at Louis directly, and also to check if she was armed. They were nice legs. No visible holsters attached, just stockings.

“Oh? And what would you, the expert, recommend?”

Louis took a long drag from his cigar, lips twitching up into a smirk. “For you, I’m thinking narcissus, amaryllis, monkshood, and thornapple.”

Riddler blanched as Dick, ignored, again watched with a blank look. Whatever code they were talking in, it seemed to have little to do with him. “I know you are famed for barberry and borage,” Riddler stated haughtily, trying to look down his nose at Louis, “but understand I am no nettle and bring no monkshood, merely saponaria.”

“You wouldn’t know saponaria if it bit you on the ass.” Louis rolled his eyes, finally delivering his full attention to Dick. Despite having clear memories of how easy it was to lay him flat as Robin, Dick felt the need to sink into the floor. Louis squinted at him and breathed out another flume of cigar smoke.. "Didn't know you took gunsels, Riddler. Not your usual type."

"Oh hardly as crude as all that. He’s just a colleague. Be polite, Oscar, say hello to our host." He gave ‘Oscar’ a pat on the shoulder.

Dick hesitated. Robin wouldn’t know how to say hello to Louis without threatening to arrest him, Bruce Wayne’s young ward would most likely cower, Oscar, however, was trying to decide what to do. He had the leather jacket, he might as well put on his young tough act. Dick hooked a thumb in his pocket and threw a wink at Louis.

“What’s shaking, daddy-o?”

The tall woman to Louis' right broke out in snickers. "God, he's precious," she giggled, painted nails to her mouth.

“Precious like a concussed puppy, maybe.”

"He'll behave himself," said Riddler, all innocent smiles at Louis, who was chewing the cigar even more fiercely. "Sharp kid, he just needs a bit of a guiding hand to lead him away from daddy dearest's bad ideas."

"It's not him behaving himself I'm worried about, it's you." Louis leaned closer, breathing out cigar smoke. Dick forced down the need to cough. "One wrong move and you're both out on your ass. In the lake. With cement shoes."

“Now, now, that is highly—"

“I see the lord of foot in mouth is here. How charming,” a smooth, English accented voice cut in. The man who stepped behind Louis was short, about Robin’s height and age, with reddish-blonde hair . A snappy and well-tailored suit in deep blue-green that brought out the brilliant color of green in his eyes. He had a stem of lilacs as a boutonniere and a white mask on his face that covered the same amount of space as Robin’s.

“And he brought a friend. Well, at least he won’t be taking any of yours, right, dear? That’s one good bit of news.” He pulled a silver cigarette case out of his coat and producing a cigarette wrapped in brown paper.

Riddler made a few gestures of obescience towards the new man, as if greeting a king. "Oscar, let me introduce you to Mr. Dandy Lion. Louis the Lilac's leonine...companion, shall we say?"

Oh. Companion. Companion like that. Louis the Lilac was homosexual? How many homosexual archcriminals were there? This called everything into question, especially the Joker.

“Cool, cool…real cool.” Dick said after a notable pause, eyes wide.

“Look, Louis, it can speak, I was wondering about that. I mean, he’s a lovely boy, not really my type, but lovely still.” Dandy placed the cigarette to his lips and the woman beside him immediately produced a lighter. “It’d be a shame to kick him out simply because he has poor taste in companionship.”

Dick felt a little relieved that he wasn’t going to be paraded around like some dog on a leash for all the villains to laugh at, and Dandy took note of the look on his face. The man puffed out a cloud of smoke that held a sweet and spicy scent to it. Clove cigarettes. Not the kind most criminals indulged in.

“Tsk, tsk, look at what you’ve done now, Riddler. Do you have this effect on all people?”

“The answer to that is always yes; even people that sort of like him.” Dick emphasized the phrase ‘sort of.’

“Hah! I do like this one, Louis.”

“Look, whose side are you on?” Riddler took Dick by the arm again as Dandy laughed and dragged him off towards the bar. Dick watched over his shoulder as Dandy escorted Louis in the other direction, one arm around his waist.

“Who’s the guy? I’ve never seen him around, but something about him’s…pretty familiar.”

"The little lion? Not one of my kind and something of a cockscomb, but Louis is fond of him."

“Those were clove cigarettes he had. A friend of mine at the country club smokes those.” It wasn’t common, but not uncommon enough for Dick to see a connection.

"I'm sure he's someone high class and important." Riddler didn't sound particularly interested in his real identity. "Might even be your friend, you can't be the only one in high society out to sow wild oats in illicit gardens." He found them a table and raised his hand to signal a waitress. The woman, with her hair nearly as tall as her heels, was visibly sighing as she came to their table.

“Either of you order with a riddle, you’re getting ice water with lemon. On your heads.”

"My friend wants a Virgin Mary,” Riddler said primly. "And a Long Island Iced Tea for me. We need to work up your alcohol intake eventually, my friend, but I'd rather have you on your game for the beginning of the evening."

“What’s a Virgin Mary?” Dick whispered once the waitress had strutted away again.

"A Bloody Mary's a form of cocktail. I expect you can do the math of a drink lacking anything naughty." He ruffled Dick's hair, making Dick’s skin heat up. “What do you think of the place so far?”

“It’s, um. Real groovy. I like it. I’ve never seen a club like this before.” Some of the other tables had men just as close as the two of them, or closer still. “You like coming to places like these?”

Riddler giggled. "Oh, I love them. It’s a real drag."

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The waitresses. Look at them, a bit closer.”

Dick glanced around the room, watching them as they passed to and fro. Not armed. Sort of following a pattern, all in wigs and colorful eyeshadow, clearly fond of building their muscles…

Oh.

“Holy frauds in frocks!” Dick hissed. “Riddler, these women…they’re not women!”

Riddler laughed as his hand slipped to rest on Dick’s hip. "They are right now. What queen only wears a crown in the evening, and goes by king in the daylight?"

“I got no idea…”

"They're drag queens, dear boy. They do this as a matter of course, for recreation and self-expression."

“But I didn’t even notice…until you said something… So everyone here knows?”

"They're idiots if they don't." Riddler nodded to where one of them was flirting with a man in pinstripes, running a long fingernail along the brim of his hat. "Lovely, aren't they? Talented."

“I guess so…I mean, I don’t really understand why they would want to do that...or why anyone would…want them to.” But it was about choice, right? They chose this; no one was being hurt and everyone looked content. As long as everyone knew then there was no harm. Dick tried to relax, to avoid panicking in this new surrounding and instead just enjoy the feeling of the fingers he’d missed stroking his hip.

"People enjoy costumes," Riddler purred, tugging briefly at his lapel. "And the thrill of taking on another persona. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Mr. Wilde?"

“Yeah. Yeah, I can dig that.” More than Riddler ever needed to find out.

The drinks arrived. “You’re lucky you brought eye candy this time, Riddler, otherwise your drink might have a surprise in it.” The waitress winked at Dick, who hid his face behind a drink that turned out to be spicy tomato juice. Riddler blew a kiss as she (he?) retreated.

The lights dimmed, and another drag queen stepped onto the stage in a shimmering blue cocktail gown, a fur stole settled around her shoulders. Riddler lowered his voice when she began to croon. (He? Ok, Robin gave up.)

“So my thoughts are,” Riddler whispered in Dick’s ear, “We have ourselves some culture, you have exactly one drink that doesn’t hold enough ethanol to flatten an elephant this time, and then we slip off to a private show again?

Dick tilted his head back to whisper in response, “I like it, but a plan works better when I know about it before it happens. Next time warn me we weren’t invited, okay?”

"Mm. In that case always assume we haven't been invited.”

Robin let the sound of Billie Holliday tunes wash over him as he leaned on Riddler and reviewed the room. Newly-educated eyes picked out a few of Louis the Lilac’s usual goons underneath the drag attire. Some of the men in the audience leaning on each other had the same expressions he’d seen on male/female couples holding hands on park benches.

This was nice, just getting to watch a show with someone curled up next to you. Dick had tried it out with a few of the girls he’d gone on chaste milkshake dates with, but for some reason they’d just never felt right. Nice girls, very pretty, but they didn’t make him feel warm like the Prince of Puzzles did. Riddler wasn’t even that handsome in the grand scheme of men Dick had known. He was just…enthralling.

The kind of opportunity guys like him didn’t usually get.

Between musical numbers they chatted, and Dick found himself elated to actually be keeping up with the conversation. Riddler was especially amused to hear the high society dirt of who was sneaking around on who, or how they were backstabbing each other. In return, Riddler handed over his own gossip on what the cream of the criminal crop happened to be doing with itself these days, before both men descended into an enthused discourse on the recent paleontological acquisitions at the Gotham Natural History Museum. Riddler promised in confidence that he had no intention of stealing them, but said he could make no such claims for what Egghead might do with a perfectly preserved Oviraptor skeleton.

After a heartfelt ballad by a Marilyn Monroe impersonator, Dick noted there was some law that kept coming up for consideration to make homosexual relations slightly more legal than they were before. Bruce had been decidedly neutral on the situation, as he often was on politics, but there was a recurring kerfuffle about it at some of the Wayne parties.

Riddler, of course, didn’t give a damn about the law and took pleasure in anything that added to his novella-length criminal record. Watching the tender, almost nervous way some of the men in the club were acting made Dick feel it wasn’t fair to make everyone follow that standard.

“I’d almost rather never drink again.” Dick said as he perused the cocktail menu. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel the day after.”

"We'll train you up to it, don't you worry." Riddler laughed. "Just avoid the vodka for now. It's no fun if you're not coherent enough to fully cognitize what's going on."

“Is that why nothing happened the last time you got me drunk?” Besides taking him home and taking advantage of the situation. Not sexually, but still. Advantage was taken.

"At that point you were little more than a ragdoll mindlessly flopping around on the bed. Dull." He ran his fingers through Dick's hair. "You're far more entertaining like this. Besides, you’re not as stupid as I’d expected a Wayne ward to be."

“Thanks, I’ll try to take as a compliment.” Coming from Riddler, it was probably the closest he was going to get.

Riddler left his side to make a telephone call about an hour later. Dick ordered a Bluebell off the cocktail menu, which seemed to be three parts sugar to one part alcohol and hopefully wouldn’t land him on the floor.

“He’s going to chew you up and spit you out, hon,” the waitress said, looking at him over her notebook.

Dick blinked. “What—who?”

“Your friend with all the riddles who can’t keep his hands in his pockets. Why’s a pretty boy like you even hanging around him? He’s old enough to be your pops.”

Dick squirmed. “He’s…he’s interesting. My usual crowd’s a bunch of squares but he’s a real riot.” He wasn’t sure how much he could really verbalize here, about boring rich people parties and the expectations placed on the ward of the most upstanding man in Gotham.

The look the waitress gave him said the young tough act wasn’t fooling her. “Yeah, the kind of riot that puts chaos in the streets, breaks store windows, and gets the cops involved. I see guys your age in here with guys his age, and it usually doesn’t end in sunshine and bluebirds. And that’s without the guy in question being one of the kookiest crooks in Gotham.”

“I’m not an idiot, I know what kind of guy he is.”

“Yeah, but you have white picket fence and sweater vest written all over you. " She patted his shoulder. "He’s quirky, he’s got a charm, trust me, I get it, but don’t think he’s doing this out of charity. He wants what he wants, and with a guy in your position, he can get away with it.

“I can handle myself. Besides, Louis’s about Riddler’s age, and he’s got Dandy,” Dick protested, looking hurt.

“Yeah, but Louis’s not ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag and Dandy doesn’t act like he just got off the bus from Nowhere, Ohio. I’m not saying don’t have your fun, I was your age once, but don’t get careless.”

“You think he’d try to hurt me?”

“Dunno." The waitress gave an idle shrug. "I think right now you’re his shiny new toy and he’s all eager to play with you until you stop being interesting. But I got this little doggie at home who loves his toys too, and by the time he’s bored with them they’re not nearly as pretty as they were when I bought them.”

Someone shouted ‘Hey! Azalea!” on the other side of the room, and the waitress went off to find other customers to give stern advice to. Dick slumped in his seat with his arms around himself.

Riddler returned, whistling. As the song ended a few tuxedo-clad stagehands set up a second microphone and wheeled a large easy chair onto the stage. Dick brushed Riddler’s hand away from where it was heading for somewhere Louis would have distinctly not approved of and sat up, elbows on the table. “What’s this?”

“Floor show, probably”

A queen in a housewife’s dress, bearing a broom, came onstage and flopped down in the chair. She let out a dramatically loud sigh and poured herself a shot of whiskey, then ignored the glass to take a drink directly from the bottle.

A man came on from the other side of the stage and pantomimed unlocking and opening a door. A comically large mustache was pasted to his face, and an undone tie was hung around his neck. Unlike the other performers this man was actually dressed as a man, with a button up shirt and a flatcap on his head.

…Wait.

“So that one’s a drag…king, right?” whispered Dick, pointing to the 'husband' onstage. “If the men are queens?”

“Right you are.”

The woman-as-man removed his (her? Darnit, this was hard) hat and threw it to the side, followed by his suit jacket, and complained of how hard he’d had to work that day. The man-as-woman sat up and retorted that her day had been full of cooking and cleaning, and unlike him she hadn’t so much as gotten paid for it. The king fired back that at least his wife didn’t have to ride the bus to and from the kitchen. The queen insisted that at least the bus didn’t contain two children that required constant maintenance. Riddler giggled as the insults increased in volume and decreased in classiness.

The king was accused of flirting with the young women at work, while the queen spent too much on jewelry and shoes. The king ate like a pig, while the queen snored like one. Attacks were delivered to the king’s sexual prowess and phallic proportions, and returned in kind with insinuations about the width of the queen’s nether openings and what she did with them and the milkman to make them such a size. Hand gestures were included for emphasis.

Dick found himself laughing at the same time as his ears were tinting themselves red. The pair got closer and closer until they were trading weak blows and wrestling on the floor, insults finally degrading into backhanded compliments and then statements of honest affection. The cackling crowd let out a soft ‘awww’ as the king and queen finally embraced, trading kisses that stopped about a half-inch from touching skin but were still accentuated with squishy sound effects.

As the couple finally agreed that their marriage was worth all the pain and suffering, they stepped to the microphone and let their dialogue slip into a duet of “You’re All I Need to Get By”. They swayed together and Dick found himself swaying to the music as well until Riddler escorted him from the building.

“That was nice,” he said, as they emerged into the parking lot. “Kinda confusing, but…nice.”

“I’m glad.” Riddler put a kiss on his temple. “And I had the opportunity to walk out on at a time and set of legs of my own choosing, which is a definite improvement on last time. Louis owns half of the gay bars and dance venues in Gotham City and takes protection money from the other half. Raising his ire too high would have severely cut down on my options.”

“Seriously?”

“The mob makes an effective guardian angel, albeit an expensive one. When places like this aren’t outright illegal the police tend to try to shut them down for any minor offense they can find. Louis takes a small cut of their income and in exchange wards off the attention that might take a large cut of their customer base. He’s sympathetic, but he’s also a businessman.”

The hand that had been so fond of his hip was moving its attention to his rear. The Prince of Puzzler removed his mask, bright eyes flashing as they reflected the streetlights. “So now that we’ve been cultured, why don’t we move on to the next act?” he purred.

“Lover’s Lane again?” Dick’s own hands were going up Riddler’s chest. This wasn’t getting careless, he told himself. This was being carefully carefree. There was a distinct difference. He could go up to Lover’s Lane and come back down again, and go to a charity dinner the next day with no one the wiser.

“Mmm.” Riddler gave Dick a light tap on the nose. “Quite honestly I’d like to go somewhere where I don’t have to fold myself up like a pocket knife just to fit into the back seat, but I have some matters to attend to tomorrow. I don’t want to be too worn out. Next time I’ll organize a bed for our flowers.”

They kissed and held it until the doorman shouted at them to move on.  
\--

Dick scaled the backside of Wayne Manor and snuck back into his room at 1am. There was a glass of milk with tea biscuits left on his nighttable with a cheerful note from Aunt Harriet about how she was going to bed but hoped Dick had a lovely time at his friend’s party and that Bruce said he’d be back tomorrow evening from his business trip to California. As he got ready for bed Dick made a mental memo to make up a good story about a lively but not too lively wholesome gathering to report on.

He was raised in a circus, right? He knew how to juggle. Adding Riddler to Aunt Harriet and Batman would be a strain but one he could handle. Azalea didn’t know she was talking to the Boy Wonder instead of some white picket fence babe in the woods.

Yeah. Groovy, baby. He could handle some far-out crook who put riddles into suggestive banter. He was the Boy Wonder, wasn’t he? He could handle a few extra puzzles, even if they came wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

On a whim Dick snuck downstairs to the sun room, Aunt Harriet’s favorite reading spot, and stole her vintage copy of _Polite Society at Home and Abroad: A Complete Compendium of Information Upon All Topics Classified under the Head of Etiquette_.

Louis ran a legitimate flower shop as well as a host of illicit bars. The language of flowers was a brief Victorian fad, but if any crook besides Riddler would know that tongue it’d be him. Robin nestled himself under the blankets and started flipping through the well-mannered tome.  
  
_Narcissus: Egotism/over-confidence_  
 _Amaryllis: Pride_  
 _Thornapple: Decieitful charm._  
 _Monkshood: An enemy in disguise  
_ _Saponaria: Humility_

Dick chuckled. Louis was definitely right about Riddler not knowing that concept if it took a chunk out of his rear.  
  
_Mugwort: Good luck/happiness_  
 _Woodruff: Agreeableness_  
 _Sweet Basil: Good wishes_  
 _Cassia: Amiability_  
 _Star of Bethlehem: Reconciliation_  
 _Virginia stock: True friendship_

Apologies in flower form. Yeah, that was pretty clever. You had to admire the style on that one.

Wait.

Robin stuck his head under the bed and felt around for the little boutonniere left concealed in his coat pocket. He laid it out on the pillow as he scanned down the list of flowers again.

_Hyssop: Mildness_   
_Daisy: Innocence_   
_Clematis: Mental excellence_

Outed without so much as a word. Dick gritted his teeth as he twisted the steps between his fingers, considering shredding them between his fingers without so much as a loves-me-not.

“Seriously, Riddler? You put this on me just to make fun of me all evening?”

But then, there was the clematis. Dick picked the wire apart and held the delicate flowers between his fingertips. Mental excellence. The kind of phrasing you’d put on an award for someone being particularly clever. An award for someone smart enough to even figure out there was a puzzle in the first place.

Dick tucked the flowers into his nighttable drawer, then clicked off the light, throwing the smile dancing at his lips into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> The flower meanings are taken from the book referenced in the fic by way of [this tumblr post](http://leifandthorn.tumblr.com/post/159319208344/the-language-of-flowers), if you want to translate rest of the villainous bickering. Dandy/Charles King is an OC from my colleague Nicowafer, and more on him can be found [here](http://nicow4fer.tumblr.com/post/163970043787/an-older-story-a-batman-66-drabble-i-made-an-oc).


End file.
